After the Storm
by Senshi'sBard
Summary: Besides the thunderstorm of death, Haruhi's up against an uncomfortably affectionate Tamaki... maybe she should have stayed in the wardrobe after all. Alternate ending to episode 8, TamakixHaruhi.
1. After the Storm

Hi there! Welcome to my first Ouran HSHC fic! I hope it goes alright. Tamaki's not his usual craziness, so I'm sorry about that.

Just warning you - my fluffmonster unleashed itself here. Like you might very well not make it out alive. Be forewarned.

This is an alternate ending to episode 8 - the one where they go to the beach and Haruhi gets pushed off a cliff and almost raped by Kyouya and freaks out in a wardrobe during a thunderstorm. Good. Stuff.

* * *

His voice was silken cream against the ragged backdrop of a stormy sky. "You don't have to be afraid," he whispered, his arms tight and gentle around her. "I'll always be here for you, Haruhi. I promise that you'll never be alone again."

She was probably dying. This was what a heart attack felt like, absolutely. Sure, it was a little premature, and she'd stayed away from sweets, mostly, but these medical mysteries did happen. Fifteen-year-olds did just drop dead, sometimes. Or maybe she was the one freakish accident.

Whatever. Point was, she was absolutely on the verge of death. Her spasmodically pounding heart, her lungs that had shrunk to the size of wilted balloons, her gasps of air, the way her knees kept knocking together, the way her throat had swollen up rather painfully… they were all symptoms of her impending demise.

The lightening seared through the sky, and she cried out in agony, her bottled-up emotion bursting forth from her body in the form of gushing tears.

Typical, thought her logical side blandly, as she sobbed into Tamaki's chest. His shirt probably cost more than her apartment's monthly rent, and here she was getting snot all over it.

But then the thunder rattled the windowpanes and she quaked deeper into his embrace, all thoughts of his expensive wardrobe forgotten. And she noticed, through the thick film of fear in her mind, that she was still alive. So much for sudden and unexpected death.

_But thunderstorms had never made her feel quite like… _

So softly that she couldn't be sure it was real, Tamaki pressed a kiss against her hair.

…_this._

Before she could determine what exactly had just happened, his lips were back, airily caressing her scalp in sweet, long kisses.

Her ribs locked up. Her knees buckled. Her stomach writhed like a pit of garden snakes. Oh God, what in the world was _wrong _with her?

No, never mind that - what the hell did Tamaki think he was _doing? _Did he think that - that - that this was some representation of his perverse father-daughter relationship idea? But didn't he realize that she _hated _being called his "daughter", and only put up with it because she knew the façade had long preceded her as part of the Host Club? No, of course he didn't, he was _Tamaki_. Totally and utterly dense. A complete moron. An idiot. A nitwit.

Alright, but even if he was emotionally clueless, didn't he understand something about the borders between relationships? Couldn't he comprehend that father figures didn't _make out with the tops of their daughters' heads?_

Yes - yes, he had to know that, because he was Tamaki, Master of Wooing, Prince of Seduction, Champion of Sweet-Talking. He had to understand that what he was doing was clearly a - a _romantic _gesture.

Haruhi shuddered.

And Tamaki was certainly doing this on purpose.

"Haruhi," he murmured, his lips sending vibrations through her skull, and tingles through her skin. Some lower part of her throbbed at the sound of his voice. God, what was the _matter _with her?

"Yeah?" she said. It came out as a rasp, so she cleared her throat harshly and tried again. "Y-yeah?"

"Forgive me for being so intrusive," he said carefully, "but - when I walked in - you and Kyouya…"

Sniveling, she pressed a watery smile against his chest. Lord, he smelled so _good_, all musky and rich and delicious, that scent of _boy_ she knew she lacked (many a customer had often giggled at how Haruhi-kun smelled so flowery, almost _feminine). _"That was nothing," she said. "He was just… teaching me a lesson."

"HARUHI!" he cried, distancing himself from her abruptly and grasping her by the shoulders. "What is _that _supposed to mean?"

She rolled her eyes, secretly grateful at how his yell had broken the tremulous deathly spell upon her; she no longer trembled, no longer gasped for air (though perhaps her fists shook a bit more than necessary). "I don't mean that in a dirty way, senpai, get your mind out of the gutter." Disdainfully, she shook her head. "No, he was trying to prove a point - about how I'm a girl, no matter what other people might think, and that I'm more vulnerable than I think I am." She tilted her head and looked Tamaki straight on in those violet-blue eyes.

_Mm… pretty… _

She shook herself back to earth. "And, uh, it was because of you, senpai. Kyouya-senpai wanted to make sure I apologized to you, once I realized that I'd… worried you." She set her jaw stubbornly. "I don't mean to say, either, that I was mistaken in doing what I did - I'm just sorry to put you through trouble, of course."

Tamaki chewed fervently on his lower lip. "But he wasn't wearing - he was - shirt, and you - bed - and - and…"

He wasn't very good at forming coherent sentences, was he? "Well, sure," she allowed, "he did kind of pin me down and all - wait, let me explain," she said, pressing three fingers to an open and wrathful mouth. "Kyouya-senpai was just showing me the facts - that I'm kind of small and not as strong as I could be, while some people use their strength to be predatory." She shrugged. "But he never would have done anything. Really." A faint smile spread across her lips. "He'd have nothing to gain from it. After all… I'm _really _not his type."

Those big-pretty violet-blue eyes widened theatrically. "You're not?" said Tamaki.

"He's your best friend," said Haruhi dully. "Wouldn't you realize that? Look at what I'm _wearing_, for God's sake." She fanned out the frilly hem of her pink dress. "I look like a cupcake. Not exactly suave and sophisticated for Kyouya."

Tamaki stared at her for a long moment, and astonishingly, a tomato red blush spread slowly across his nose. "Well," he said finally. "I don't think you look - I mean - I think - I think you look great, Haruhi."

She found her own face growing heated, but before she could think up an adequate response, yet another crack of lightning raced from the clouds, and she cowered back toward the wardrobe.

Grinning slightly, Tamaki grabbed her wrist. "Uh-uh," he said, "no more wardrobes for you." He glanced around the room; his eyes alighted on the coffee table near the wall. "I've got it." He dove towards the bed and in a moment snatched the lightweight blanket off the mattress. In a dramatic flourish, he spread the blanket over the table and placed a large book on top to keep it from sliding. Peeling back a corner of the makeshift fortress, he gestured underneath to Haruhi. "Your fortress, milady."

She eyed him skeptically for a moment, but the thunder made her scuttle like a sand crab beneath the fort; Tamaki followed her in and let the blanket flutter to the ground.

Inside, it was dim, but not completely dark. Tamaki's eyes glinted at her from his rather close proximity, and she felt herself growing rather flushed. God, he was beautiful. It didn't seem fair, or right, or legal for anyone to possess that level of good looks (although his complacency in regards to his appearance was turn off enough). Quite honestly, it was frightening. Haruhi didn't know how to deal with rich people, and she certainly didn't know how to deal with beautiful ones. And those who were rich _and _beautiful _and _had a habit of saying both the stupidest and wisest things she'd ever heard from a human being… well… Tamaki was quite an enigma.

"Commoners build these sorts of forts, don't they?" Tamaki asked her excitedly.

She rolled her eyes. "I've never done this, actually."

"Oh." He looked distinctly put out; he must have considered this to be a stroke of genius.

"It _was _a good idea, though," said Haruhi, and he brightened up again. A right damn roller coaster, he was. And sure, that could be really annoying on a day when you had a headache or a history test or a paper to write, but a lot of the time it was kind of funny. Sort of exciting. He spiced things up.

Flash. Crack. Boom.

She froze in fear, her hand instinctively reaching out toward Tamaki, but she drew it back, embarrassed. Her eyes felt ready to pop out of her head. But then Tamaki's arms were around her once again, and he pulled her into his lap, cradled her head to his shoulder.

"It's alright, Haruhi. You don't need to be shy. This is what I'm here for."

For a while, she was too afraid to say anything - afraid of the storm, and afraid of what he was doing. Afraid of how his hand roamed freely over her hair, down the nape of her neck, behind her ear, across her cheek. Afraid of the kisses he began to apply liberally along her scalp once more. Afraid how they turned her into a quivering mass of uncertainty and anxiety and… and… _excitement… _

She made herself speak. To know would be horrible, but not knowing was worse. Not knowing was torture. "S-s-senpai…?"

The tip of his delicate nose nuzzled into her hair. "Hmm?"

"What…" She swallowed. "What are you doing?"

He was still for a while before he answered. "I'm not sure," he said finally, his voice soothing and melodic. "Is that alright?"

He wasn't sure? But he was _Suou Tamaki_, for God's sake, Prince of Seduction and Master of… whatever it was. He _always _knew what he was doing. In… these sorts of situations anyway.

But maybe it wasn't _that _sort of situation. Since maybe Haruhi wasn't even a girl to him.

Re-enter point number 1: Friends with father complexes do not randomly assault Haruhi's hair with their lips.

_Damn_, this was complicated.

"Yeah," she said, after a bit more consideration. "Yeah, I guess." And really, she didn't have a choice; lightning tore her to shreds; thunder blew her to bits; so all she could do was huddle in Tamaki's lap and pray for survival. She'd deal with whatever came after in its time.

Although his nomadic hand certainly was distracting. But his heartbeat thumped steadily in her ear, and his breaths were natural and even, and his _smell_, oh lord, his smell… like shaving cream and violets and _boy_… musky and rich and delicious and _boy_…

As the storm crashed onward, her hand crept up to Tamaki's neck and rested there. With fingers like air, he took her hand away and pressed it to his unbelievably soft lips _like rose petals… _

Hysteria bubbled up inside her as he caught her eye with a searing gaze. Oh, God, she couldn't handle this, what was he _doing_, what was he _thinking? _She was Haruhi, just Haruhi, plain boyish bookworm Haruhi with plain brown hair and plain brown eyes and a plain little face. But _he - _he was a goddamn demigod, his golden hair like freshly harvested wheat, his eyes just like the violets he smelled of, his features charming and chiseled and strong, and he knew _everything _about how this worked, and she knew _nothing_.

Nothing.

And if… if what he was doing really implied… what it seemed to imply… well, she didn't know if she could handle that. She simply didn't know if she was capable of being… of being…

(_But what did he feel for her? Or was he just fooling around, like he always did? Like Kyouya had minutes before?)_

(Desired? Loved? Respected? _What?)_

Oh, it would be terrifying, and it would be wonderful, and the answers were lying just inches away in the mind of the boy who was now applying fresh kisses to the underside of her wrist. (_And how did he make her pulse like that? How did he make her lust this way?)_

Tears leaked quietly out of her eyes, and for the second time in minutes, she cried, but silently now; and it wasn't until she began to wet his shirt again that he noticed.

"Shh, Haruhi," he whispered, mistaking her tears for fear of the storm. "It's alright. You're safe with me."

_You don't understand_, she pled to herself. _It's _you _I'm afraid of. What are you _doing_ to me?_

She was so preoccupied that she hardly noticed the lightning fading and the thunder receding, until the loudest noise she could hear was Tamaki's heartbeat, or her own.

He shook her gently as silence rang deafeningly through the room. "Haruhi? Are you awake?"

"Yeah," she murmured.

"I think the storm's passed."

"Y-yeah. I guess you're right."

Neither of them moved. They sat, melded into one another, gently embracing, forever.

Haruhi jerked awake and found herself moving. Vaguely, she blinked and looked around. Darkness. Shadows of picture frames on the walls.

She inhaled. Violets.

"Senpai?" she croaked.

"You fell asleep," he said softly, as if she hadn't figured that out on her own. His steps were rhythmic and solid. Unconsciously, she snuggled up against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said, uncertain as to what she was apologizing for.

He only chuckled.

Moments later, he stopped outside a plain door and, shifting her weight in his arms, jiggled the knob open.

The room inside was just as dark as the hallway, but wide windows on the opposite wall were dripping with post-thunderstorm rain. It made a pretty dancing illusion, the night casting its moonlight through the water and onto the floor where its shadows twisted and glided.

Tamaki carried her to the bed in the center of the room and sat on the edge; he slid her out of his arms and onto the blanket beside him. She blinked up at him sleepily. Dear gods on high, he was lovely.

"Thanks," she breathed. "For staying with me."

He smiled warmly at her and brushed her hair back behind her ear. "I'll always stay with you, Haruhi."

She bit back a yawn. "But - but - wh-why?" The yawn won. "It's not like I'm not grateful, senpai, it's just that I don't understand why you want to."

His head tilted to the side ever so slightly; his smile grew softer. "Because, Haruhi," he said, "I care about you very much."

She frowned, her brain already muddled with sleep; this was too much to comprehend. "_How?"_

"What do you mean," he said, "_how?"_

"How… is that… possible?" She wondered if those were the words she'd meant to say. They probably weren't. She couldn't think. Her brain was stuffed with cotton balls.

"I think that's a question for later," he said with a grin, "for when you're more attentive." He was very close. "But for now…" He drifted even closer, capturing her in those violet eyes. Damn him. "I may very well be taking advantage of your state right now, Haruhi," he whispered very quickly, "but let me say this before I lose my nerve; I have loved you ever since I set eyes on you and I will love you until the day I die."

_That _woke her up, alright, but not nearly as much as the fiery kiss that followed. How he managed to convey such raw passion while his lips were so tender and smooth and velvety, she had no idea; she was swept up in his movements, in the slickness between his lips, in the surprising moistness of the kiss, and before she had much time to react there was something even wetter painting the outskirts of her own lips; but he stopped there, and moved far away enough for her to focus on him.

"Tamaki-senpai?" she stuttered.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I - "

"It's just _me_," she interrupted. "I don't know where you went wrong, but it's only me. It's only Haruhi. Aren't you a little confused or something?"

He smiled again, beautifully, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. "Do you think I meant someone else?"

"Senpai," she repeated, "I'm hardly even a _girl_."

She tried to ignore how his eyes went straight to her flat chest. It was difficult. "You're right," he said, his eyes full and sparkling and _gorgeous_, sending jolts down her spine, "you're so much more than a girl, Haruhi."

She rolled her eyes.

Upon seeing this, he sighed and turned away, resting his chin on his palms. "Do you care for Kyouya, then?" he asked abruptly, and somewhat bitterly.

"What?" said Haruhi, cackling. "Kyouya? I - of course I don't - Kyouya's got nothing to - "

"Then who?" Tamaki urged her, a jealous glint fogging his eyes. "Is it Hikaru? He looks at you sometimes, you know. We pretend not to notice, but we do. I do."

"Hikaru - what - _no_, no, senpai, that's not - that's not the _point! _I - it's _you_, alright, it's always been you, except that was impossible, because you had everyone at your fingertips, every girl you ever dreamed of, and I honestly think there must be something wrong with you if you're going to throw that away and go after _me!"_

The puppy dog eyes appeared. Lord preserve her, what was she going to do with him? "But Haruhi… what if I _want _to go after you?"

She opened and closed her mouth a few times; no sound came out. "You're crazy," she said finally. "You're plumb crazy."

It was strange, how his expression could be so sad and so joyful and the same time. "I'll make you see what I see," he said quietly. "I'll make you see how beautiful you are." His hand reached out for her cheek; his thumb stroked her gently. She was shaking all over when she leaned in, this time of her own accord, and took his lips between her own.

It was slower, now, languid and gentle, and Tamaki gently coaxed her into learning the patterns; which way to lean when he did that, how to adjust herself when he did this_, _how to position her nose so that it gently caressed his, when and how to breathe. She hummed contentedly into his mouth, and felt him smile in response. Parting, she gasped in his musky smell; it went straight to her head, like some hedonistic drug, and then she was devouring him, hot and wet and fast, her hands tight in his silken blond hair, and it wasn't enough, she wanted more, more of this beautiful boy who had somehow convinced her that he was _hers _for a moment or two -

Then the wetness was back, and uncertainly she let her lips fall parted; thickly, his tongue kissed her lower lip before delving carefully into her mouth, meeting her own tongue and acquainting her with the rough delicacy, the cumbersome pliancy of his art (because if there was something Tamaki had mastered, it was certainly this); she pulled away to breathe a bit, and she found him practically steaming at her through his eyes (how he did that, precisely, she'd have to find out some day).

"Haruhi," he whispered.

"What," she whispered back.

He grinned against her forehead. "Nothing." One kiss, simple and chaste, he left there. "You should go to sleep. You've had a long day."

"But I'm wide awake _now_," she insisted, somewhat saucily. An earsplitting yawn a second later, however, did not do much to assert her point.

"Hm," said Tamaki. "Really, now."

She made a face at him.

He stood, stretched a bit, and peeled back the blankets from the bed. Obediently, she climbed between them and sighed as her head hit the pillow.

Tamaki was leaning over her, and he was beautiful, and he was perfect. "Good night," he murmured, and he let her have one more kiss; he lingered, and she lingered, and she slid her hands behind his neck, and he held her cheeks between his fingers as if she were made of glass, and they kissed, and they kissed.

"Good night," Tamaki repeated against her cheek.

And then he was gone.

* * *

Eh. Not the best ending. I feel like this needs some closure, so keep an eye out for updates, if you dare.

Reviews would be nice, just so I know this fluffmonster didn't kill anyone. I would feel kind of guilty otherwise, you know? Eh.

Cheers!

~SB


	2. Inferiority Complex

Yay, another chapter! I basically had to rewrite this one from scratch because it was going in this really weird direction, so... yeah, I'm glad I finally got something I'm happy with.

I'm not sure whether to warn you of fluff; it seems less fluffy to me, but it is still rather silly and pointless romance, so... you make that decision. xD

Disclaimer: I don't own the metaphor or Ouran HSHC.

* * *

A bird chirped blithely outside the window, heralding the morning.

Haruhi wished it would shut the hell up, in an amiable sort of way. She smiled dreamily into her pillow and let out a lethargic sigh. A great swelling bubble of happiness shimmered through her, and she was pleasantly half-awake and very comfortable in a bed that couldn't be hers… Stretching her arms with two shaking fists, she wondered where in the world she was.

Oh, that was right. She was at Kyouya's summer home. The entire host club was here; her mind flashed around the dinner table from last night, picturing the twins, Kyouya stiffly dabbing his lips with his napkin, Mori and Honey, and finally the way Tamaki flinched every time she snapped open her crab -

_Oh._

…_OH._

_Tamaki_.

A lobster red flush erupted across her face. Oh, God in heaven, she had - they had - _what? _How - why - _really? _And then - but no - but it _did _happen, and great skies abound, he had practically confessed his _love _for her. _Tamaki_, for Christ's sakes! Tamaki, who was all French and blond and… and… _shit!_

She stuffed her face into her pillow and cursed herself for being a wuss when it came to thunder and lightning. She just needed to suck it up and stop acting like a _girl; _otherwise this never would have happened. Oh God, oh God, oh God… what was she going to _do?_

Seizing the blanket, she yanked it up over her head and began to list things in her head. The process went something like this:

1. There was no way in hell that Suou Tamaki could possibly have fallen for her.

2. But if he hadn't, then why had he practically confessed love to her last night?

3. She could always run away to… to… India. Or maybe Istanbul.

4. Make that Rio de Janeiro. A couple of oceans in between them wouldn't hurt.

5. Maybe the twins had put him up to it. Maybe it was all a prank. (See point 1.)

6. But if it was a prank, then why had he seemed so goddamn genuine? (See point 2.)

7. Then again, Tamaki-senpai was brilliantly skilled at manipulating girls into believing themselves half in love with him.

8. …regardless, Haruhi was not one of those girls.

9. …Right?

10. Right.

11. SO WHAT THE HELL WAS SHE GOING TO DO?

She decided to get dressed. That seemed like the most logical conclusion.

_Why, _exactly, she chose another dress, she couldn't quite say; maybe she was in the mood for deep blue; maybe because she was tired of wearing boys' clothes all the time; maybe because she loved the way the silky cotton felt against her recently-shaved legs; maybe because the color reminded her of Tamaki-senpai's eyes - _what, _no! No, no, no! Bad Haruhi! Very bad Haruhi!

Anyway, she could always blame it on her dad, who certainly _had _repacked her things, replacing her more boyish clothes with this kind of rubbish. Well. She sighed. At least it wasn't pink.

She had just shrugged into the fresh dress and was about to attack her hair with a brush when she heard a knock at her door.

Great.

* * *

Tamaki awoke with a start to a sharp rapping noise. It took him a moment to realize that noise was a knock.

"Tamaki? It's me." Kyouya's voice was unmistakable, and if Kyouya was already awake - he squinted at the clock. Quarter till noon. Hm. Late.

"Wait a minute," he called, his voice muffled with sleep. Grabbing a t-shirt, he yanked it over his head and shuffled to the door.

Kyouya was waiting, pen poised over his notebook.

"What," said Tamaki.

"Well?" said Kyouya. "What happened?"

Tamaki blinked.

"Last night," Kyouya clarified. "With Haruhi."

"I don't know what you mean," said Tamaki delicately, and he made to shut the door. Kyouya's shoe, however, lodged between door and wall.

"I don't think so. You're letting me in."

Tamaki grumbled and retreated to the armchair by the window, into which he flopped rather gracelessly. Kyouya took the seat across from him and tapped his pen thoughtfully against his jaw.

"Now really, you can't expect me to believe - "

"I heard what happened between the two of _you_," Tamaki interrupted rather darkly. "Was all of that really necessary?"

"I was merely reinforcing the point you had tried, but _failed_, to make to her. I may not be madly in love with her, but I do care about her safety. She still owes me debt after all."

A fleeting thought danced through Tamaki's still-dormant mind, something ending with "cold-hearted bastard," but he couldn't quite tell what it meant, so he gave up. "I'm not madly in love," he said without feeling.

"Hm," said Kyouya. "Really now."

"Really now."

The black-haired boy cocked his head. "You _do _seem rather depressed. She rejected you, didn't she?"

Tamaki ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "You're like an old woman," he complained. "Always after the nastiest bit of news."

Kyouya smiled rather wickedly. "I like to be well-informed."

"I've noticed, Mother dear." He sighed. "Well, I've got no one else to tell. Might as well be you." After a pause, he finally admitted, "I told her."

Kyouya nodded with a well-rehearsed apathy. "And?"

"She acted… weird. Like I was mistaken or something."

The pen was flying all of a sudden, but Kyouya managed to peek at his friend over his notes. "Denial?"

"I guess?" Tamaki shrugged. "Is that a commoner thing?"

"No," said Kyouya, his eyes squinted analytically. "Not precisely. It might seem that way at first glance, but denial in situations such as these is most likely linked to an inferiority complex - which may in turn be the product of a commoner upbringing, depending upon the circumstances."

Tamaki blinked. "Hm?"

"She's insecure," he explained.

"_Why? _She's beautiful, she's intelligent, she can make anyone look stupid at the bat of an eyelash -"

"Anyone," said Kyouya, "or just you?"

Tamaki glowered. "That is not helpful, Mother."

"Terribly sorry, Father." He grinned in a way that told Tamaki he wasn't sorry at all. "Please continue."

"Well… " Idly, Tamaki scratched at his hair. "She said all this weird stuff, and so I thought that meant she wasn't interested…" He relived the moment of disbelief: how could he have misread her? He was a master at telling girls what they wanted to hear, interpreting their reactions and feeding off of them. But Haruhi had always thrown him for a bit of a loop… "I thought she might love you, instead."

Kyouya raised an eyebrow. "Did you think that, really? Don't worry, Daddy, I'm really not her type."

"That's what she said about you," Tamaki laughed. "So then I thought it could be Hikaru, and she said no, it wasn't. And then she said it was me." His heart sped up just at the memory. "But then she confused me with this rubbish about other girls. I didn't quite follow her."

Kyouya rolled his eyes. "For all you claim to be the ladies' man, you really don't comprehend the complexity that is Fujioka Haruhi."

"No, but I'm beginning to." The corner of his mouth twitched up. "And it's wonderful, it really is, to start to understand."

"My," Kyouya marveled, "she's really got you, hasn't she?"

He drooped. "You have no idea."

"Well, what then?"

"Then… I told her she was wrong, and… I kissed her."

Kyouya's smirk of triumph was sickening. "Of course. And Haruhi?"

"Seemed alright with it. I think I actually did it before then, come to think of it. But then she - she kissed back, she did, so…"

"So?"

"So… that can't be bad… can it?" He shook his head. "I dunno, Kyouya. She makes me act so _weird_. I can charm the hell out of anyone else, but Haruhi makes me act like a flat-out idiot."

"It is rather strange," Kyouya agreed. "You seem perfectly sensible right _now_, but you always manage to do something ridiculous around Haruhi." He tapped his upper lip. "But it seems that last night, you did alright."

"But it was tough!" Tamaki complained. "I had to pull _all _the strings, you know? Usually just one is enough."

"How tragic," said Kyouya sardonically.

"It is," Tamaki huffed.

They were silent for a moment.

"So what about today?" Kyouya pressed on.

"Today? What about today? Lord, I don't even know. What do you do the day after you kiss a girl during a thunderstorm? Do they have rule books for these sort of things? You should make one, Mother. You'd save all of us poor souls floundering in the sea of love."

"Your ability to destroy the common metaphor is ever astounding," Kyouya murmured, and ducked when Tamaki threw a nearby shoe at him. "Well, I suppose you ought to go see her before the others do. Just to remind her of your intentions, in case they slipped away overnight."

"She's probably wondering what in the world she should do," Tamaki sighed. "Poor little Haruhi."

"She _is _rather helpless when it comes to these sorts of things, isn't she? You'll need to help her out, Daddy."

"I'm just as clueless," Tamaki reminded him. "I only act like I know what I'm doing."

"And that makes all the difference," Kyouya said with a wry grin. "Now go along. You've got some seducing to do."

* * *

She swiped the brush feverishly through her hair and tiptoed to the door, cleared her throat. "Yeah?"

"Haruhi, it's… it's Tamaki."

Her eyes bulged; her chest convulsed. Shit. Shitshitshit. What should she - what would he - did he still - why was he - oh damn it all! Swallowing her anxiety, she threw open the door.

The lanky young man before her was nothing like last night's. He was rumpled in a gray t-shirt and boxers, his hair sleep-tousled, his violet eyes watery and dark-rimmed. He seemed so -_human_.

He gave a lopsided grin as he caught her eye and scratched his ear. "Hi," he said.

"Uh." She couldn't stop staring. There was nothing particularly beautiful about him at the moment (though his nose was still rather flawless), yet she couldn't get the thought out of her head that this was the most extraordinary she'd ever seen him. So exposed. So different. So… _common._ "Yeah. Good - good morning."

He leaned casually on the doorframe. "How are you this beautiful day?"

She rubbed her nose nervously. "Um. Fine. I guess. You?"

"Lovely," he replied. "Fantastic. Absolutely wonderful." He ducked his head close to her ear. "You look beautiful in blue," he whispered.

She stiffened. "Senpai…"

"Tamaki," he corrected her.

She frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," he laughed.

"Okay…" She fiddled with the hem of her dress. "Tamaki, uh… why… I mean… are you sure… you want to be doing… what you're doing?" She winced as she finished the garbled sentence.

"What is it that I'm doing?" he breathed. Too close. _Much _too close. And his breath was all minty and husky and…

"You know better than I do," she said, interrupting her thoughts.

He gave her half a smile. "I'm sure," he replied. "I've never been so sure. I think the real question is, Haruhi, do you want me to do this or not?"

"I -"

"I can give you a refresher, in case you've forgotten," he said wickedly, his eyes dancing.

"What?" A flush pooled into her cheeks. "Oh, I - I haven't - I mean - if you - if you want to, just… I should… can you give me a minute?" Lord on high, how did he manage to turn her, the articulate and sensible Fujioka Haruhi, into a stuttering mess?

His eyes practically _smoldered _at her. She had no idea what _smoldering _was, but whatever it was, boy was he doing it. "Of course."

"R-right." She turned to fetch her toothbrush from her bag.

"Do you mind if I come in?" said Tamaki from the door.

"Oh… no, of course not, no. Sorry." She gave him a quick smile and dashed into the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth far too quickly and spat violently into the sink. She rubbed a warm washcloth over her face, and scowled at the zit hiding beneath her hairline. Well, she could ignore it for now.

When she was finished, she walked back in to find Tamaki hunched over on the edge of her bed; she reeled in momentary déjà vu. Gathering her nerve, she went and sat by him.

"Hi," he said again, still grinning like an idiot. Well, he _was _an idiot, that was for certain.

"Hi."

"So."

"So… what?"

"How _are _you?" he asked brightly, practically bouncing onto the floor.

"Um," she said.

He sobered immediately. "What's wrong?"

She squirmed. "Nothing, exactly…"

His slender finger tipped her chin up; his eyes forced their way into her field of vision. "Haruhi," he said gently, "did I do something wrong last night?"

Slightly enthralled and wholly terrified, she shook her head.

"Then what's wrong?" he whispered.

"N-nothing… you're just… a little… you know."

"What?" he frowned.

She giggled nervously. "Intimidating?"

"_Me_?" He laughed somewhat raucously. "But I always say stupid things!"

Haruhi chuckled. "Well, sometimes, but you certainly do have your moments of intentional seduction."

He wiggled his eyebrows at her comically. "Maybe I'm just a natural."

She elbowed him in the arm. "You know it's on purpose, otherwise there wouldn't even _be _a Host Club."

His grin was wider than the windows of her room - which was saying something. "I guess you've got me all figured out, then."

"I guess I do."

He slung his arm around her shoulder and hugged her, as if it were an afterthought. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed.

"Tamaki-senpai?"

"Just Tamaki, remember?"

"That's _weird_," she complained, but obliged all the same: "Tamaki, then."

"Yes, dearest Haruhi?"

She glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes. "I really do like you," she muttered. "A lot, I mean."

His smile rivaled the noontide sun. "It's so amazing to hear you say that."

"You hadn't figured it out?" she asked in mock astonishment.

"I thought I had," he said, "but Kyouya said something about inferiority complexes."

"I haven't got an inferiority complex!" she cried indignantly, lifting her head. "That's the _last _thing I've got!"

He shrugged. "Go tell Kyouya that."

"Maybe I will," she growled. "Just watch me. I'll show _him _what a real inferiority complex is."

"I fear for his life," said Tamaki with that same infectious grin. Then, "Haruhi, can I kiss you again?"

She stared at him for a moment. He looked so eager and disheveled and lively that she almost laughed. He was like some bouncing puppy. "You really mean it, don't you?"

"Of course I mean it," he replied, nonplussed. "I'm in love with you."

When he brushed his lips against hers, she couldn't help feeling that the smile spread along with the kiss. She leaned into him and slid her hand up to his cheek; and suddenly his arms flew around her waist and he yanked her into his lap. Haruhi screeched and giggled and Tamaki laughed that raucous, deep laugh, and he pressed his nose and his smile _that crazy contagious smile _against her cheek, and kissed her again.

Haruhi was very glad she'd brushed her teeth.

* * *

Yay plotless romance. Well, that's the end, kids, but I'll be back. I've got too many ideas to stay away from this fandom for long. xD

Thanks for reading!

~SB


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